


A Garden World

by PerhapsTomorrow



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Contemplative Crowley, First Kiss, Fluff, Holding Hands, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Partners, M/M, Picnic, Post-Canon, going to alpha centauri, technically not ducks, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 10:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19972705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerhapsTomorrow/pseuds/PerhapsTomorrow
Summary: "Wait, hadn’t he just told himself he wasn’t going to talk about Before? But he was feeling strangely comfortable. Maybe it was the way Aziraphale seemed even softer than usual. Maybe it was just the change of scenery. This little moment out-of-time, away from the droning of civilization and its thoughts and desires that never slept. Everything on this planet still existed in a...how did they call it? A state of grace? Yes. The only choices any lifeforms on this world were capable of making were those of food, shelter, and reproduction. Neither temptation nor salvation had relevance here."In which an old promise is fulfilled. Also, spaaaaaaace.





	A Garden World

**Author's Note:**

> My first Good Omens fic! And first fic of any kind in a lonnnnnnnnnnnng time.
> 
> I make no representations as to the scientific accuracy of anything within! :)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ chansontristesse.

“What’s faster than the speed of light?”

The sound of the angel’s voice cut into Crowley’s thoughts, pulling his gaze from where it had been idly resting on the couple of humans sitting under one of the park’s more majestic elms. The young man’s shirt -- the sort of button down in a muted color that suggested its wearer had been unsure as to whether this afternoon’s social encounter was to be, in fact, a “date” -- was covered in a spatter of deep red stains after an unfortunate mishap with a strawberry flake that had melted _mysteriously_ quickly in the shade.

“Hmm??? The speed of...?” Crowley tilted his head back toward the angel sitting primly next to him on the park bench they’d occupied for the past hour or so. The softest of breezes was tugging lightly at Aziraphale’s curls, fluffing them as if brushed by invisible fingers.

“The Alpha Centauri system is 4.367 light years away from Earth,” the angel continued, “but if an ether--occul--well, beings such as us, were to, say, fancy a midday picnic on one of its worlds, we could have ourselves there and home again by tea time. So, logically speaking, it follows that you and I would be travelling at a velocity many orders of magnitude greater than the fastest speeds currently defined by the physical sciences and--”

“--A picnic?” Crowley interjected, trying to bring Aziraphale back into orbit around what he surmised this conversation was _really_ about. He seemed in a rush with his words, even for his usual self.

“Well, we’ve become quite the regulars at The Ritz by now, wouldn’t you say my dear? But --” 

There came now the slightest pause in the angel’s speech, his eyes quickly darting to the couple under the elm tree, before returning to meet Crowley’s, holding a mixture of, well, what _was_ in there? Hope? Resolve? 

Aziraphale seemed to draw himself up slightly. “--but, well, we never did go for that picnic, did we? And I’ve discovered a _delightful_ new patisserie that also carries artisanal cheeses, and I was thinking a picnic would be the perfect opportunity to test out their selection, as these would keep well at room temperature and --”

 _That picnic_. Crowley remained silent while the angel spoke, his sunglasses obscuring his thousand-yard stare, looking back, back to a seedy Soho side street, to the Bentley, to that thrilling jolt of excitement and nerves, quickly swallowed and suppressed, when his angel had appeared so unexpectedly in the passenger-side seat.

_Perhaps one day we could, I don’t know, go for a picnic...dine at the Ritz._

Crowley realized Aziraphale had stopped speaking, was waiting. He felt that little jolt again -- _oh_ , how many times had he felt it by now? And how was it, after six thousand years, it still managed to catch him off guard? 

“4.367 light years, you say?” he asked, his forced casual tone betraying a mind still mulling over things left unspoken. The lines around his mouth hinted at slitted eyes searching beneath their shades. ”When did you work that out?”

“I didn’t, the humans did. I...ran across it. In a book. One of yours, in fact. You...left it in the back room. I was...curious about your handiwork. Up...up there, you know?” he finished with a flourish of his hand towards the sky.

Was there an extra flush in the angel’s cheeks now? Or was it just the inevitable glow that comes of losing track of time on a bench under the sun on the kind of day where the person you’re with makes all time seem relative?

 _...I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go._

Crowley leaned back into the bench, stretching his limbs. “I don’t recall that we ever had a measure for our manner of travel, back...well...you know,” he waved his hand, “back _Before_. When we were building everything. Don’t s’pose there was a _need_ , really. I imagine, for the humans, putting a name to their limitations helps them strive against them, gives them a ceiling to shatter, what have you, but by what unit does one measure the _absence_ of limitation, anyway?”

He paused, realizing it had become his turn to ramble away some tension, apparently. This was why he avoided talking about _Before_. Well, one reason anyway...

Crowley sat up rather suddenly and leaned in towards Aziraphale, whose eyelids fluttered as his dovelike breast expanded with the softest, barely perceptible inhalation -- but which to Crowley was nonetheless unmissable. After six thousand years of friendship with an angel who guarded his emotions as if they were their own walled-off paradise, one learned to read him with heightened senses.

 _You go too fast for me, Crowley._

Crowley was struck with a profound sense that this was a critical moment, that the angel was...trying to offer him an... _opportunity._ He chose his next words very deliberately.

“At any rate yes, to get there, we’d be going fast. Very fast indeed.”

He waited. The angel’s eyes seemed to be searching all over his face, from his nose, to his mouth, back up to his shades, trying to get behind them. Crowley hoped to Go-- Satan... _Someone_ , that Aziraphale had properly taken his meaning. The angel was no fool, but Crowley wasn’t going to discount his own ability to be fool enough for the both of them --

\-- but before Crowley’s thoughts could spiral any further, Aziraphale smiled, eyes shining, with almost unbearable tenderness.

“I’m ready now,” he said simply, holding Crowley’s gaze.

Crowley reached up and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, causing Aziraphale to raise his eyebrows slightly. Crowley rarely removed his shades in public, although he did find himself tempted to do so more often since the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, for reasons he wasn’t quite sure of.

The slightest upward curl began to tug at the corners of Crowley’s mouth as his golden eyes passed a rare, slow blink. He tilted his head. “Tomorrow then?”

The angel nodded, the flush in his cheeks now impossible to blame on the afternoon sun. “Tomorrow, then.”

***

The thing about traveling faster than the speed of light, as a being who can reject the known laws of physics when the occasion calls for it, was that you could actually make the journey take just as long as you liked.

Aziraphale undoubtedly could have found his way to the planets in Alpha Centauri’s habitable zone on his own should he ever have needed to. But when they’d convened in the bookshop that morning, the angel had told Crowley to “lead the way. I’ll hold on to you.” 

There was a part of Crowley that almost wanted to make a perfunctory protest. Something about the angel’s request felt like a...courtesy? Or was it...apology? A tacit acknowledgment of earlier rejection? That, even though Aziraphale had been the one to suggest the picnic, all of this, all that had happened to them since that night in the Bentley, existed beneath an overarching invitation, one that had hung in the ether around them both for so long it had almost become a part of the background hum of the universe? 

And so Crowley assumed the mantle of navigator. Naturally, while traveling, their bodies of gross matter (and the picnic basket and assorted cheeses and pastries) must be safely stowed away, so it would not be exactly correct to say that Aziraphale was “holding onto” Crowley as he led them through the fabric of space, as technically the angel did not, at that present moment, have hands and arms with which to hold.

Nonetheless, if Crowley was being honest, he _may_ have dragged his metaphorically-extant, dis-incorporated non-feet just _ever_ so slightly as they made their way to their otherworldly destination, the angel’s presence twisting and turning through his own, held fast to him by some fundamental force that shared its family tree with the others which bonded their whole universe together -- gravity and electromagnetism, nuclear forces strong and weak -- that unidentified "fifth force" the humans were always going on about like it was some cosmic holy grail, there beneath and in and around everything, yet somehow always out of reach. 

Couldn’t say he blamed them, really.

***

“A ‘garden world’, the humans call these.” 

Crowley kicked at a clump of grass with the toe of his snakeskin boot. It wasn’t purple, or covered in spikes, or emitting any eerie sounds. No, it was an entirely unassuming cluster of green blades that wouldn’t give an Earthling the slightest pause (unless that Earthling was a geneticist having a look at its genome sequence). 

He continued on, “Pristine planets teeming with life, and all the conditions needed for human habitation. S’pose the name comes from some primordial memory of theirs.”

Aziraphale was puttering about in search of a suitable plot of ground to lay out their blanket. “A veritable paradise, my dear. Not that I would have expected less!” A soft breeze was playing with the angel’s hair again as he walked to and fro. _Ah. so this world, too, had invisible fingers to envy_.

“Mmm. ‘Cept this time,” Crowley answered, “it’ll be their _arrival_ , not their departure, that precipitates the fall of this particular Eden. Probably be here sooner rather than later, at this rate, the clever little buggers. But for now, it’s ours.” _Our garden. Our paradise_.

Crowley looked out over the edge of the small bluff they stood on and inhaled deeply. They were surrounded on all sides by lush vegetation, crowded around a collection of sparkling lagoons fed by sweetwater streams that cascaded down from the surrounding hills. If he wanted to, he could listen in on the aural signature of every lifeform around them for miles. Every droplet of water sliding its way down the leaves of the forest canopy, the light crunch of parrotfish teeth as they worked away on a patch of algae in the lagoon, the coo and chirp of each vibrantly plumed bird -- or, perhaps he should say, “bird”...the humans would likely argue over whether they should be saying “dinosaur” when they eventually saw them. _Just before they fry them up like a chicken dinner, I expect._

Ah yes, this planet truly had been one of his masterpieces.

Crowley removed his sunglasses and stowed them in his breast pocket.

“Here we are my dear, come and join me why don’t you?” Aziraphale was gesturing at him to come and sit on the blanket, already busy spreading out an assortment of cheeses and a number of carbohydrate-based objects Crowley wasn’t sure he knew the names of.

As Crowley folded up his limbs and sunk to the ground, he realized Aziraphale was holding out a glass filled with an golden-amber liquid that, in the midday light, seemed to emanate a glow of its own. 

“Figured you wouldn’t be much interested in Apfelstrudel,” said the angel, gesturing at one of the pastries, “but I thought perhaps you might appreciate some apples in a, er, _different_ form.” His blue eyes were positively _twinkling_. 

There it was again, the little jolt.

Crowley took the glass of apple wine into his hand and studied it to distract himself. He wasn’t sure he’d had apple wine before. Cider, yes. And he’d certainly been responsible for the apple tree’s wildly unpredictable genetic expression. He smiled to himself. That one had felt particularly poetic. Of course, the humans had eventually figured out how to control the plant and get what they wanted. As they usually did. Crowley made a mental note to revisit the apple forests of Kazakhstan sometime soon. You never knew when the humans would decide an entire forest needed to be razed or a mountaintop stripped.

“Oh, in this light, it’s the color of your eyes, isn’t it? How lovely.”

Crowley looked up from the glass at the sound of these words, suddenly feeling very warm. Well, this planet did have two suns to keep it warm, after all. Not too much, just enough to keep the temperate zones pushed to the poles. Ideal climes for a serpent. That’s probably all it was.

He took a sip, and tasted a perfectly balanced mixture of sweet and tart. Duality in a glass. The angel had chosen well.

He sat idly for a moment, sipping his wine as Aziraphale savored a piece of manchego. “Garden worlds were one of my specialties, you know.” 

Wait, hadn’t he just told himself he wasn’t going to talk about Before? But he was feeling strangely comfortable. Maybe it was the way Aziraphale seemed even softer than usual. Maybe it was just the change of scenery. This little moment out-of-time, away from the droning of civilization and its thoughts and desires that never slept. Everything on this planet still existed in a...how did they call it? A state of grace? Yes. The only choices any lifeforms on this world were capable of making were those of food, shelter, and reproduction. Neither temptation nor salvation had relevance here. 

Somewhere not too far away, he could hear the satisfied purrs of some warm-blooded creature’s young as they nursed, safe and nestled in their den.

“Would you like to tell me more? About when you made them, these worlds? What it was like?” Aziraphale asked gently.

“I...wish I could remember more than I do, to be honest. Mostly now my memories are just...suggestions. _Feelings_. Memories of feelings.” He sighed. “I remember...what it felt like to _build_ something, rather than disrupt it --” his voice momentarily dipped in disgust, “-- as _they_ would have me do. What it felt like to visualize, to _know_ , the...systems of a world, all interwoven, like for a time I was a part of them, and they a part of me.”

Crowley paused, unsure how he felt about continuing. The angel had finished the manchego, but not yet picked up another piece. Instead, he was watching Crowley with acute interest.

“Clearly you knew how to bring out the best in them,” he said. And then, after a beat, reached out and put his hand over Crowley’s. And in his mind’s eye, Crowley saw that moment when the dark side of a planet, shrouded in its night, turns finally towards its sun to greet the day.

He became aware that the familiar jolt hadn’t happened. Everything simply felt correct, like things were taking their natural course, as they’d always been meant to. He laced his fingers up through Aziraphale’s, and they both sat for a time, content in the silence of each other’s company.

Suddenly, a flock of medium-sized birds (birds? Fine, _birds_ ) passed low overhead, in V-formation, headed to one of the far lagoons. Their calls were what could only be described as a “quack”, though not _exactly_ like any “quack” yet heard by earthly ears.

"Oh look!” exclaimed the angel, before turning to Crowley with a playful wiggle, his nose scrunching. “Well _well_! Do mine eyes deceive me, O Serpent Of Eden, or have I just witnessed the sight of _ducks_ authored by thine own hand?” He grabbed a macaron and popped it into his mouth, chewing away happily.

Crowley responded with a mocking wiggle of his own. “They’re _not_ ducks. Not...er...technically.” Crowley narrowed his eyes in an attempt to look intimidating, but on the inside he was pretty sure it wasn’t working.

“Shall we go down and see for ourselves then? We’ve plenty of extra bread here. Let’s see if they have a taste for it.”

“You know ducks don’t much like me.”

“Well, as you said yourself, these _aren’t_ ducks, now are they, my dear?”

***

When they got to the lagoon’s edge, the “ducks” did not flee, but did keep their distance. Crowley found himself standing closer to Aziraphale than he had excuse for, but the angel didn’t seem to mind. He was tearing the ends off a baguette and throwing them into the water. The more curious members of the flock began circling towards them.

“I must admit, as lovely as Earth’s ducks are, I don’t believe I’ve seen one _quite_ that shade of fuschia,” said Aziraphale admiringly, tossing another chunk in the water. The flock remained guardedly interested, but no bites. “Here, why don’t you try?” said the angel, holding out a freshly torn piece to Crowley.

Crowley gave him a skeptical look, but took the bread nonetheless, their fingers brushing during the exchange. “Well if _you_ can’t get them to eat, I certainly don’t see how _I’ll_ be able to,” he said dryly.

“Oh, I think they just needed a little... _time_. I have a good feeling about this next one though, go on,” Aziraphale said encouragingly, moving in a little closer to place his hand behind Crowley’s shoulder and smiling. Crowley wasn’t sure he believed that. But he wanted to, and for the moment, that felt like enough. 

Crowley smiled back at him, despite himself, and tossed the bread out into the water. It landed with an especially satisfying _plop!_ This time, the nearest fowl decided it was feeling bold, and quickly gobbled at the soggy blob of bread, snapping its beak open and shut several times. 

“Oh my, would you look at the _teeth_ on him!,” exclaimed Aziraphale in delight, “I daresay perhaps we are lucky our feathered friends on Earth are of the more genteel sort!”

Crowley thought about listing off the reasons Earth ducks were decidedly _not_ genteel by any stretch of the imagination, but Aziraphale’s hand was still on his back, and he was sure he’d never felt so pleasantly warm in his life, and it had been so long since he had experienced this feeling of _knowing_ , caught up in a flow, but a flow which was under his control, reality open and responsive to his will. He simply had to tell it what he wanted. 

He slipped is own arm up behind Aziraphale’s shoulders, and the angel pressed himself closer to his side. Crowley checked in his companion’s eyes one last time for the usual walls, the fear, the guardedness, but they were gone. The angel tilted his chin up as Crowley leaned in and pressed their lips together, gently, oh so gently, at first. After a moment he felt a soft hand on the side of his face and responded in kind, running his fingertips behind the angel’s ear and into his hair, fluffing the ends. The angel seemed to like this and deepened the kiss between them.

Crowley held on tightly.

Eventually the kiss came to an end, as all things must do. Aziraphale was smiling bashfully, and for once Crowley didn’t care to worry much over whether he was doing the same.

***

As they made their way back up the bluff to collect their things for the journey home, Aziraphale looked suddenly pensive, and said, “What’ll the humans do to it?”

“Pardon?”

“You said earlier that when the humans find their way here, this place will, er, ‘fall’, as it were.”

“Well, you’ve seen what sorts of things they’ve done to the first planet they were given, haven’t you? And their propensity for tearing down the walls of Creation brick by brick, unraveling everything at the seams, only seems to accelerate with each passing generation, these days. Even though they’re only hurting themselves.” He sighed.

Aziraphale frowned for the first time that day. Crowley didn’t like it anymore than he did, but, well, it wouldn’t do to deny reality, would it?

“Do you suppose,” said the angel, hesitantly, “that that’s what the next war will be about? You know, the one between all of us, and all of them. A war to save Creation from...them?”

Aziraphale now looked positively pained, and was turning his head to and fro looking at the nature all around them, as if trying to take in an imprint of its beauty while he still had the chance. Crowley was pretty sure he knew exactly what Aziraphale was feeling all too well. “Maybe,” he answered, shaking his head. “I truly don’t know.”

They’d arrived back at the blanket and picnic basket, but Aziraphale did not immediately start packing up their things. Instead, he stood staring at the ground, his brows furrowed in a way Crowley had seen many times, the way they did when he was sussing out a loophole, hatching a plan. 

“Perhaps...” the angel began slowly, before brightening and gaining steam, “Perhaps Earth’s purpose is for them to learn from their mistakes! Perhaps everything we’re seeing on Earth now, their technology, their industry, the warming, the habitat loss...is a...a trial, a test! For them to learn from, to figure out their place in this whole universe, how to live with it in balance, so that when they _do_ start exploring, they’ll be better, they’ll be their best selves, they’ll be _ready!”_ The angel smiled at his own little revelation. “And we can help them!” he finished, beaming.

Crowley couldn’t help but chuckle, and felt a little jolt of excitement -- ah there it was again, his old friend, taking his breath away for half a heartbeat. How could one not love a being so ineffably optimistic?

He snapped his fingers, miracle-ing the blanket into the picnic basket and the picnic basket into some unknowable side dimension for the journey home, then stepped forward, extending his hand, palm upwards. Aziraphale took it in his own.

“Right then. Ready to go back?” asked Crowley.

“I’m ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> Despite my disclaimers on scientific accuracy, for the curious, here're some notes on some things mentioned in the story because I just personally find them fascinating: 
> 
> -Wasn't until googling while writing this that I learned the Alpha Centauri system IS actually a binary star system! (hence the "two suns"). So deliciously thematically appropriate!  
> -The history of the apple tree really is wild. I suggest Michael Pollan's "The Botany of Desire" for an entertaining summary.  
> -The "fifth force of the universe" I mentioned is also a real thing that astrophysicists and others theorize the existence of but haven't yet identified. A cosmic mystery!


End file.
